


Candles to Light Your Way

by Batsutousai



Series: The Shortest Day [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, New Beginnings, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5490746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times when tragedy left them dreading the longest night, and the people who reminded them that the sun would always rise again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candles to Light Your Way

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Arakawa Hiromu and various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
>  The poem is _The Shortest Day_ , by Susan Cooper, and doesn't belong to me. (It has become nearly synonymous with the season, for me, so I couldn't _not_ include it.)
> 
> **A/N:** In the Cowshed Diaries in the twelfth volume of the manga, Arakawa Hiromu answered a question about whether Christmas (and Valentine's Day) existed, saying, no, because Christianity had never really emerged. Which, well, I have some questions about that, because variations on alchemy have existed longer than Christianity, certainly, and the general idea behind FMA is that alchemy became more important than science, but their technology isn't too far off from what we had in the early 20th century, so the advent of alchemy _must_ have been a fair bit more recent than when it first became a thing (and canon suggests that was maybe when Father came? So...early 1500? Maybe as early as the 12th century, which is when it really came into common knowledge in our world), which means there's some variation of Christianity – or Judaism, more likely – _somewhere_ , even if it isn't prevalent in Amestris.  
> Tangent, sorry.
> 
> Anyway, I think about that answer of hers all the time, because my sister and mum are both European-pagan (and I'm an atheist), so we celebrate the winter solstice, or Yule. Which, way older than Christmas, and variations of it existed throughout Europe (which is, supposedly, the conglomeration of culture that Amestris is based on), though the most recognisable today is, I believe, from the Germanic and Nordic cultures? (Don't quote me on that.) It's recognising the longest night/shortest day, at the core, but there's also a sense of the passing of the old year into the new, a time to reflect on what has passed and sort of have hopes for the future.  
> And so I've always had a sort of...assumption, I guess, that Amestris might not have Christmas, as we think of it, but it's very likely they have _something_. And because Arakawa-san is Japanese, and likely force-fed Christmas through western commercialism, I shouldn't expect her to know enough about where the customs came from to say, 'Christmas, no, but they do celebrate the rebirth of the sun after the longest night, in a manner that wouldn't be completely foreign to you'. (Even if that part of me that lives with paganism hates that she _didn't_ know.)
> 
> I happened to read an article a friend reblogged on tumblr on Saturday – I lost the page, or I'd link it, and I'm too lazy to go hunting for it – about trying to fit our modern Christmas traditions into fantasy and sci-fi settings. And I get a lot of what the author was saying, even if it was sort of only side-ways applicable to FMA? But it got me thinking that, maybe, it could be fun to do a holiday fic and post it for Yule, if my muse would behave (which he did, he gets fudge).  
> Which left me with the question of what to write. And then Mum and I watched _Home_ , so this is maybe inspired, a little bit, by the loneliness that Tip felt after everything was ripped away from her, and the Christmas gift that she carried with her the whole way.
> 
> Long A/N is long. Sorry.
> 
> You can also read this at [Fanfiction.Net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11682128/1/), [deviantArt](http://batsutousai.deviantart.com/art/Candles-to-Light-Your-Way-579443623), or [LiveJournal](http://batsutousai.livejournal.com/341447.html).

-0-  
Edward & Alphonse  
-0-

Learning to live without Mum had been hard, but they'd had the Rockbells just up the road, and Ed had forced himself to hold his chin up and keep on, be strong for Al, like Mum had always been so strong for them both. He learnt to get up early enough to sort breakfast – Granny helped him figure out some basic things – would walk Al to Granny's, then head to school with Winry. After, he'd pick up Al and they'd go home for a couple hours, then to Granny's for dinner, then back home and, eventually, to bed. And, on days when he didn't have school, they did the shopping, or little alchemical jobs around town, to help boost their funds a bit. And, during every down hour, they researched alchemy. 

They managed. It wasn't easy, and there was a huge hole in the house where Mum's smile should have been, but they did it. 

Ed...almost didn't realise the winter solstice was upon them, just approached the two weeks of holiday like any other day off since her death. And then, over dinner, Granny said, "You're both welcome to stay here for the solstice." 

He felt frozen, for a moment, before he forced that false smile that was becoming far too familiar, and shook his head. "We're okay," he said. 

"We gotta light the candles," Al added, nodding. "Mum always says it's how we help the sun god rise again." 

Ed didn't scoff, barely; he wasn't sure he believed in those stupid old stories about a god in a chariot pulling the sun across the sky each day, was far more inclined to the 'the planet we live on turns, which makes it _seem_ as though the sun is moving across the sky' explanation, but Al was still young, and Mum had been the one to tell him those stories, and Ed had bits of Mum that he wanted to hold on to, too. 

Once they got home, Al insisted on hunting down the candles and sticking them in all the windows, like Mum always used to do. 

"We should make a fire, like you're supposed to," Al said, pointing to the fireplace that no one had touched since Mum'd fallen ill. 

Ed immediately shook his head. "No playing with the fireplace without Mum," he said. 

And then he realised _what_ he'd said, and something died a little inside. 

Al slumped. "Oh," he whispered, and dragged his way out of the room. 

Ed was left staring at the cold fireplace, alone, remembering all the things they wouldn't have that year. They could light the candles, sure, but there would be no cuddle pile before a warm fire to chase away the night's chill while they waited for dawn, no roasted pig or Mum nagging them about finishing all the vegetables on their plates before they could have the cake that they'd watched her make that afternoon, salivating over how good it would taste. There would no longer be three places filled at the table, while a fourth sat with an empty plate, waiting for someone who was never coming home. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember that the man of the house _never_ cried. That he had to be strong for Al, because he was still little and needed someone to look out for him, and that...that could only be Ed, any more. 

Al, who was probably crying his heart out upstairs. 

Ed took a deep breath, convinced himself he wasn't going to cry, and then went to go comfort his brother, who was only a _little_ less of a cry-baby than Winry. (Not that Ed brought that up. Often.) 

-

Like they always had as kids, Ed and Al stood at the western-most window on the first floor and watched the sun sink down behind the tree line, the darkness of night chasing after it. 

"Okay," Ed said in the following darkness, tightening his hands around the match and matchbox in his hands, "now we light the candles and wait for the sun god to fix his chariot." 

"I thought he had to heal from his battle wounds," Al whispered back. 

Ed huffed. "That was _last_ year. _This_ year, one of his chariot straps broke and he's gotta fix it. And we gotta give him light to do it, right?" 

"If you say so..." Al agreed, clearly unconvinced. 

Ed huffed again – _little brothers_ – before narrowing his eyes at the outline of his hands, which he was finally adapting to the dark enough to see, and very carefully striking the match-head against the strip on the matchbox. 

The match-head burst into flame, and Ed looked up to grin at his brother, found Al grinning back at him, a little bit of the excitement that had been missing from his expression the last couple days returned. 

Ed reached up and very carefully lit the candle, then blew out the match. Al held out the little bowl they'd brought up, and Ed dropped the match into it. "Okay," he said, "now the next one." 

They went through the entire house, lighting every candle, including the one that Mum had always put in the study, even though there wasn't a window in there. (Ed had a feeling it served the same purpose as the empty place during dinner.) 

Once all the candles were lit, Ed heated up the stew Granny had let him take home from lunch and they ate that, trying not to look at the two empty place settings – Al had insisted, and Ed had let him have his way because then maybe he'd stop crying – before going into the living room and the pile of blankets they'd dragged down earlier. Ed turned on the little space heater that was usually kept in the study and pointed it at them, then they settled in to play word games, just like always. 

Except, usually, after the word games got boring, Mum would start telling them fantastical stories that Ed never paid attention to, and when Al looked at him, expectant, his mind was blank. 

Al slumped, all of the excitement from lighting the candles and finding a way to recreate the blanket pile without needing a fire draining out of him. "Brother," he whispered, tears glinting in his eyes, "what if the chariot didn't break? What if the sun god is...is _gone_ , just like Mum? What if we never have sun again?" 

Ed...didn't have an answer for that, and his stomach sank as a tear rolled down Al's cheek. 

Which was about the point they heard a knock on the front door. 

"Stay here," Ed ordered, and, once Al had given an uncertain nod, still so broken-hearted, he unburied himself from the blanket pile and went to get the door, hoped some sort of answer would be waiting on the other side. 

"Hi, Ed!" Winry chirped when he'd opened it enough to peer outside, beaming at him from the stoop. 

Ed blinked. " _Winry_?" he asked, and heard his brother moving in the living room. 

"Let us in, it's freezing out here!" Granny demanded from behind Winry. 

Ed stepped back to let them in, holding the door open and staring as Winry stepped in, leading her sleigh, which was piled with crockery and some twigs and smaller logs, while Granny followed with a huge log, the same size Mum always got from Carpenter Jeff to burn in the fireplace overnight. "What–?" he started, before realised he had no idea what to say. 

Granny took the edge of the door from him and kicked it shut, pinning him with her best 'don't be stupid' look. "Since you wouldn't come to us, we came to you," she announced, before holding out the log, which he accepted automatically, and his knees almost buckled under the unexpected weight. "Go put that in the fireplace." 

"Oh," Ed heard himself say, under the sounds of Winry ordering Al around down the hall, insisting he had to unpack the sleigh, since she'd been the one to pack it. 

Granny's expression softened a bit and she touched his elbow. "I'll show you how to build the fire once we've eaten," she promised. 

Ed hugged the log to his chest and nodded, then turned and hurried into the living room, where he could wipe at his damp eyes without anyone the wiser. 

And then he went back to the kitchen, where Granny had jumped up on the kitchen stool that was still a little too short for Ed to use and was directing the crockery around, some left on the worktop, others handed up to the hob, where she set them to reheat. The largest, Ed had to help with, and once he and Al got it onto the table and uncovered it, they found the familiar roasted pig that Ed remembered. 

For the first time in years, all the place settings got used. 

Granny did, indeed, show all three kids how to stack the wood in the fireplace, explaining about cleaning out all the ash before starting a new fire, and how to work the floo. Winry ran to get the matchbox, complaining about Ed's directions, while Ed and Al unearthed the poker and stuff, which had been pushed out of the way because it wasn't any use to them. 

With everything in place, Granny lit the fire, showed them a couple tricks for helping the big log catch, and how to keep it burning if it started to go out. Then they all retreated to the pile of blankets – Winry commenting they'd finally done something right – and Granny told them stories about when Auntie Sarah, Uncle Yuriy, and Mum were all kids. They'd all heard most of them before, but they meant something special, then, huddled together in front of the fire while they waited through the longest night. 

And, when the sun finally broke over the eastern horizon, Al's face lit up, the last of his worries fleeing with the night's long shadows. 

"Happy Yule," Granny said, "and may this one be a happier one than what came before." 

As he repeated the sentiment, Ed determined that it _would_ be, because they were gonna get Mum back, and they would never suffer another winter solstice alone. 

-0-  
Winry & Pinako  
-0-

Five years ago, Winry remembered mocking Ed for how stupid he'd been about refusing to come over and celebrate the winter solstice with her and Granny. But now, with the heavy reminder that Mum and Dad would absolutely never be coming home for the winter solstice ever again, that she could barely remember the last time she'd wished them happy Yule in person, she kind of understood. And, with Ed and Al away, doing their stupid alchemy training, the last thing Winry wanted to do was wait through the long night for a new year. 

She didn't want to know what else the world could throw at her. 

"Winry?" Granny called, knocking on her bedroom door. "Were you going to light your candle?" 

Winry looked over at the where the candle laid on the floor, where she'd thrown it when Granny had first handed it to her to put up. 

What use was some stupid candle? There wasn't anyone to light the way home for, and no such thing as _sun gods_. 

" _No_!" she shouted back, tightening her arms around her pillow and hating _everything_.

Granny was silent for a long moment, before replying, "Okay. I'm going to go start dinner, then." 

"I'm not hungry!" Winry snapped. 

She was pretty sure Granny sighed, but it was hard to tell with the door in the way, before her footsteps moved away. 

Winry settled in to wallow some more, vacillating between hating Ed and Al, hating her parents, hating the military and their _stupid_ war, and hating Granny for keeping on like everything was normal. 

According to the clock next to her bed, it was about an hour later when the phone rang downstairs. She looked up, surprised; people didn't usually call on holidays, too busy with their family celebrations to even bother hurting themselves in whatever stupid stunts they got into the rest of the year. 

She heard the low murmur of Granny's voice as she spoke to the caller for a couple minutes, before she called up, "Winry! Phone!" 

She debating ignoring it, but curiosity got the better of her, so she finally let go of her pillow for the first time in hours and left her room. 

Granny was waiting for her next to the phone, and she held up the handset with that knowing look of hers that said she knew _exactly_ what was going through Winry's head and needed her to move on, already. 

Once Winry had accepted the handset, Granny turned to go back to the kitchen, and she held it up to her ear with an uncertain, "Hello?" 

_"Winry!"_ Ed called, loud and bright and so achingly _familiar_. _"Teacher said we're not allowed to stay up all night and drive up the phone bill first thing in the morning, so I figured–"_

_" **I** figured, Brother,"_ Al said from a slight distance, in that tired, resigned voice that he'd perfected years ago. 

_"Yeah, fine, whatever. Ow! Fine, **Al** figured we should call you now and say–"_

There was a brief pause, then they both said, _"Happy Yule!"_ a little too loud and slightly out of sync. 

Winry felt her eyes filling with tears and tried valiantly to blink them away before they fell, to no avail. 

_"Winry?"_ Ed said after another long moment. 

Winry swallowed and said, her voice a little too thick, "Thank you. I miss you idiots." 

Ed huffed – annoyed and embarrassed and maybe a little fond; Winry had needed that last one explained to her by Auntie Trisha – then said, _" **You're** the idiot. Idiot."_

There came the sound of a brief scuffle, then Al said, _"What Brother is too emotionally challenged to say–"_ someone unfamiliar laughed in the background, while Ed snarled insults, then yelped _"–is that we miss you, too. Which is why we called."_

She caught herself smiling, at that, still hated that they weren't there, physically, but began to realise that, really, she didn't need them to be. "Happy Yule," she offered. 

_"You, too,"_ Al returned, and she could hear his smile; he loved this time of year. _"I promise we'll be there next year, okay?"_

"You _better_ ," Winry shot back. 

Al laughed, loud enough that Winry couldn't quite make out whatever Ed said. _"Nothing, Brother. Hey, wait. Did you– You're going to get **killed** when Teacher finds out you–"_

_" **Shut**. **Up** ,"_ Ed hissed, close enough for the speaker for it to pick him up. _"Take this and keep your mouth shut."_

_"I'm not taking your contraband so you can point fingers at me once Teacher realises you–"_

There was another scuffle, and Winry couldn't quite keep from laughing at the scene she could see, in her head, playing out. 

_"Bye, Winry!"_ Ed said at last, loud and bright and almost like he was standing right there next to her. _"Eat lots of Granny's cake for me!"_

_"Brother, that's not how that works."_

_"Shut up, Alphonse."_

Winry shook her head. "I promise to describe it to you in perfect detail once you finally get home." 

_"Hey!"_

"Bye, Ed! Happy Yule!" 

Once she'd hung up, Winry stopped to stare at the phone for a moment, then went into the kitchen and asked, "Granny? Can I have the matches?" 

"They're on the table," Granny said without turning around, but Winry could hear the victory smile in her voice. 

Winry huffed a bit and snatched up the matches, then hurried back up to her room and over to pick up the candle, only to find it had broken in half. She stared at it for a moment, uncertain how to fix it, before an idea occurred to her, and she turned to get her desk scissors, using them to cut the wick showing between the two pieces of wax. She bent some scrap metal into a second holder, then set both of them on her windowsill and lit them. 

They were way smaller than the rest of the candles in the house, but that was okay, because the idiots she'd lit them for would be home really, really soon. (And one of them was super short, anyway, so it fit.) 

Giggling to herself, Winry went back downstairs to see if Granny needed help with anything. 

-0-  
Roy & Maes  
-0-

Roy absolutely, one hundred percent, intended to go out, get as much alcohol as he could carry, get completely fucking smashed before the sun went down, and sleep away the winter solstice. His aunt had extended an invitation at the beginning of the month, and while she hadn't reacted to him turning it down – at least, not outwardly, not to him – some of her girls had. He'd felt a little bad, but he didn't really want to be able to remember how he'd spent last winter solstice in Ishval, spending the limited daylight hours burning people alive, and the too-long night trying to ignore the sporadic gunfire. 

As it turned out, neither the Ishvalans, nor the military, believed in cease-fires for holidays. Even holidays that were supposed to be spent looking back on the year and looking forward to something better; to _becoming_ better, leaving your sins behind you, like the sun finally breaking through the deepest darkness of the year. 

Well, Roy was pretty sure he wasn't going to be breaking through the blood on his hands any time soon, so he figured he'd settle for breaking into the new morning with a massive hangover. (There should be some symbolic nonsense in that, right?) 

Except he got called into Central Command, despite it being his day off – and a national holiday, besides; didn't these generals have better things to do? – to collect transfer and promotion orders, then stand through a short little ceremony where he got his new stars and was patted on the back and called "Lieutenant Colonel Mustang" enough times that he was half convinced his hangover had come for him early. 

Maes was waiting for him outside, holding a bottle of champagne and a wide, bright smile. 

"I hate you," Roy muttered, even as he accepted the alcohol and held it close. 

"I'm pretty sure you're getting 'hate' and 'love' mixed up again," Maes returned, dropping an arm around his shoulders and starting walking, bringing Roy along with. "So, what are your plans for tonight?" 

"Getting drunk," Roy deadpanned, before wiggling the bottle at his best – and most annoying; _why_ did he put up with Maes again? – friend. "Thanks for your contribution." 

Maes made a face and his hand on Roy's shoulder tightened. "Seriously? Couldn't you at least go chasing skirts, like you do every _other_ night of the year?" 

Roy snorted. "The winter solstice is time for reflection and family, not a quick dinner and a roll between the sheets." 

Maes sighed. "You know, if you would just _find_ –"

"Shut up, Hughes." 

Maes sighed again, a little bit louder. "Well, you're right about it being a time for spending with your family and friends. Which is why–"

Roy did _not_ like where this was going. 

"–you're coming over to mine!" Maes finished, grinning. 

"No." 

Maes' smile didn't waver an inch. "Of course you are. I've told you _all about_ Gracia's cooking–"

"Hughes–"

Maes' free hand came up to cover his mouth, the other still holding tight to his shoulder, so Roy had very little chance of getting away, especially with his hands occupied with the champagne. 

" _Anyway_ ," Maes continued, as though Roy hadn't interrupted, "she made a lot of extra food–"

No way she was done cooking, yet; this had been purposefully orchestrated, because Roy's best friend was a pain in his rear. 

"–and, as much as I love her cooking, there's _no way_ I can surround everything. And then I thought of you, my poor, poor–"

Roy debated the pros and cons of using the champagne as a bludgeoning weapon. Pros: Maes would shut up and he'd get away. Cons: Goodbye, champagne. And it looked like a good year, too. Also, Maes had blackmail and a mean streak. 

"–bachelor friend, who has nowhere to go for the holiday and will surely be _lonely_ , which is a terrible fate for _any_ holiday. And _then_ I found out you were being promoted–"

Lies. Maes had very likely known about it for at _least_ a week, and opted not to tell Roy, because he was the worst best friend ever. 

"–and decided we could have a holiday meal and a celebratory party, all at once! It's a genius idea, don't you agree?" 

Roy tried really, _really_ hard to shake his head, but Maes just used his grip over his mouth to make him nod. 

"I knew you would!" 

Losing the champagne was sounding better and better, and since he was getting transferred next week, Maes wouldn't be able to use the blackmail to its fullest extent. Win, win. 

But then he recognised the building Maes was turning them into and he slumped; there went any chance of escape. 

Maes let him go on the stairs, already aware that Roy gave up once they were inside his building, and led the way into his flat, calling ahead, "Roy brought champagne!" 

' _Hate you_ ,' Roy mouthed, when Maes looked back at him. 

Maes, of course, beamed. 

Gracia stepped out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel and wearing one of those non-judgemental, honestly-happy-to-see-you smiles that she seemed to have got a degree in. "Hello, Roy. I hope he wasn't too pushy." 

"No more so than usual," Roy replied, entirely honest. 

Maes let out an insulted gasp. 

Gracia's smile widened and she accepted both the champagne and the kiss to her cheek that Roy offered. "Well," she said as she wrapped her hands around the champagne, "you know we're always happy to have you, no matter the occasion." 

Somehow, Roy managed to keep his smile from slipping. "I know," he said. "Thank you." 

"Help me pick some music," Maes ordered as Gracia returned to the kitchen. 

"Maes–" Roy tried. 

Maes' eyes gleamed. "Or I have some new pho–"

"Music it is," Roy muttered, shoving his idiotic best friend toward the turntable and his store of records. 

Maes, of course, laughed at him. 

They eventually settled on something with a slow beat and swells of music that didn't _quite_ match Roy's mood, but came a lot closer than some of the things Maes considered 'music'. Gracia came out with champagne for all of them, commenting, "I have about an hour before I have to go back in the kitchen, so I hope you gentlemen don't mind if I sit." 

"Not at all," Maes promised as they relocated to the living room furniture. "And I suppose this is as good a time as any to toast Roy's promotion." He shot Roy a bright smile. " _Lieutenant Colonel_ , sir." 

"Oh, Roy, that's _wonderful_!" Gracia said with such honesty, Roy couldn't do anything but smile with gratitude he didn't feel. 

Maes held up his glass. "Congratulations," he offered. 

"Thanks," Roy managed, his throat feeling dry. And, as soon as both his and Gracia's glasses had struck Maes', he tossed his share back. 

Gracia started to rise, but Roy waved her down, insisting, "You've been on your feet for hours, I'm sure. I know where the bottle is." 

Maes didn't move, but Roy could feel his disapproving gaze on him the whole way into the kitchen, which was why, when faced with the bottle and the promise of his interrupted evening plans, he only poured himself a glass, then put it back and returned to the living room. 

Gracia started them off with recounting previous winter solstices, and Roy and Maes both politely stuck to older memories, in silent agreement to just completely forget the year before had happened. 

When she returned to the kitchen, Maes murmured, "Thank you." 

Roy frowned at him. "For?" 

"Not bringing back the bottle." 

And there, for a moment, Roy could see the ghosts in Maes' eyes: the memories of humans burning, instead of candles; the sound of gunshots, instead of laughter; and the smell of death, instead of the dinner they could already smell the promise of from the kitchen. 

Roy realised – a bit belated, he thought – that he wasn't the only one who had seriously contemplated drowning the night with alcohol. 

He paused for a moment, then held up his glass between them. "Thank _you_ ," he offered in return. 

Maes smiled and knocked his glass against Roy's. Then they both, nearly in tandem, set their glasses down on the coffee table without drinking. 

Roy sighed and folded his fingers together, looking out the windows against the far wall to watch as the last, dying light of the sun painted his city in fire. "It's not much of a promotion, you realise," he said quietly. 

Maes was quiet for a long moment, until the last of the red and orange had burnt away, before he replied, "East or Central, it's still a step up the ladder, Roy. And you know I'll be here, either way, passing along everything I can." He shrugged as Roy looked over. "East City may be small, but that means there's more room for advancement. You may be leaving here a lieutenant colonel, but there's nothing saying you can't return a brigadier general." 

"We're stopping at brigadier general, now?" Roy asked, feeling a little... Not happy, really, but bolstered, a bit; for all that Maes complained about his optimism, he'd never have got as far as he had without his unflagging support. 

Maes offered him a lopsided smile. "To get you back into Central, we are, unless you're planning on usurping whoever's posted out at East?" 

"Lieutenant General Grumman," Roy reported. "He's getting up there in years, might be looking at a nice retirement soon." Actually sort of _was_ , if his aunt was to be believed. 

Maes chuckled and picked his glass back up. "Lieutenant general it is, then," he said, holding his glass out. 

Roy picked his own back up and clinked it lightly against Maes'. "Sounds like a nice, easy goal to reach." 

Maes grinned, shadows of the battlefield in his eyes. 

"The candles!" Gracia called, before hurrying from the kitchen. "Hurry, we're supposed to light them as soon as the sun sets!" 

"No one is going to care if we're a little late," Maes soothed, getting up and motioning with his head towards where three candles were set on the windowsill. Beyond them, in other windows across the street, Roy could see flames coming to life, clustered in the windows like the people who lit them likely were doing inside, some people turning off their electric lights so they were more visible, others not bothering. 

A world of small fires, keeping away the darkness and carrying hopes and dreams safely through to the new day. 

Roy pulled out one of his gloves and, as Maes and Gracia lit their candles the normal way, he snapped his fingers, activating the terrible array sewn in red on the back of his hand. He put all his hopes for the future – all his dreams of a world where none of those little flames lining the Central City streets would fear being snuffed by the darkness in human shape that carried guns and may or may not be their own countrymen – into the spark that jumped from his fingertips to the waiting wick, along the narrow path of oxygen he'd left it. 

For the first time in over a year, as Roy watched his own little flame bloom into life, he remembered what it felt like to use alchemy and not feel ashamed. 

He supposed he was glad Maes had dragged him over, after all. 

-0-  
Gracia & Elicia  
-0-

It wasn't her first winter solstice spent mourning someone who should have been there, but it _was_ the first one where she had to put on a bright smile that ached and go through the motions, because Elicia deserved to have this night be _perfect_.

About half an hour before the sun was due to set, not two minutes after Gracia had slipped the ham into the oven, someone knocked on the front door. 

"Who?" Elicia enquired as Gracia stepped into the living room, tilting her head in that way that had always made Maes coo and grab for his camera. 

(Okay, to be fair, _everything_ had made Maes coo and grab for his camera, even the time Elicia had taken her crayons to the wall; Gracia had nearly throttled him when he was more interested in taking pictures than in helping her clean it up.) 

She took a deep breath, reminded herself not to cry, and opened the front door with her best polite smile in place. 

The man standing on the stoop was a surprise, but he shouldn't have been, and Gracia felt her polite smile falling away as she took in Roy's sad smile and civilian suit, a bottle of champagne cradled in his arms. "You don't have to let me in," he said quietly. 

Because Gracia was _really_ going to turn away Maes' best friend on the longest night of the year, when she _knew_ he had nowhere else to go; six years hadn't changed much, and she ached at the reminder that she wasn't the only one who had lost her best friend a couple months ago. 

She stepped back, motioning him in. "You know we're always happy to have you," she offered. 

His smile slipped for a moment, honest pain shining through, before he forced it back into place with far more skill than he'd had six years ago. "I know," he replied, the same as he had back then, though she suspected he _hadn't_ known, not this time. "Thank you." 

"Of course," she murmured, shutting the door behind him and holding out a hand for his coat, which he handed over without complaint, looking down the hallway with a smaller, quieter smile on his face. 

"Hello there, Elicia," he said. 

Gracia glanced down the same direction and found her daughter peeking around the doorway into the living room, her wide, curious eyes every millimetre Maes. She cleared her throat and managed a smile that only ached a little. "Elicia, sweetie, this is Papa's friend, your Uncle Roy." 

Elicia blinked, then nodded. "The picture," she said. 

"There's a picture of you and Maes on the mantle," Gracia murmured to Roy, as she doubted he'd know. 

"I think I can guess which one," Roy returned, his tone dry, and Gracia felt her smile become a little more honest; Maes had always complained about how camera-shy Roy was, as if he wasn't just as bad about letting someone else take the camera and get a couple shots of him. 

"Ah," Roy said, holding out the champagne bottle a bit. "I actually bought this one." 

Gracia was confused for a moment, before she remembered the bottle of champagne Roy had 'brought with him' six years ago, and the gleeful tone Maes had announced that in; she hadn't known Maes well enough, back then, to realise that he'd been lying about whose pocketbook the money for the bottle had come from. 

She startled herself with a laugh and accepted the bottle. "Thank you. I'll go put it in the kitchen, if Elicia wants to show Uncle Roy what she was working on?" 

Elicia blinked and gave a very serious nod as she said, "Not colouring on the walls," then vanished back into the living room. 

"That sounds like a story," Roy commented, his smile a little lopsided. 

"That is _many_ stories," Gracia promised. "You're very likely to hear a few of them, even." 

"I do like reminders of why I don't have children," Roy shot back, before leaning in and kissing her cheek. "Take your time; it's not my first time keeping an eye on a child." 

Recalling some of his previous winter solstice stories had involved young children, Gracia was more than willing to trust him with Elicia for a few minutes, while she poured them all drinks – apple juice for Elicia, champagne for her and Roy – and collected an extra candle and stand, then joined them. 

Roy was indeed managing Elicia, exclaiming over her colouring pages in a way that made it seem like he spent his days with children, rather than stuck in a stuffy military office. 

She passed around the drinks, then held out her glass. "To old friendships," she said, while Elicia looked up at her glass in confusion. 

"Seconded," Roy agreed, reaching up and clinking her glass with his. And then he smiled at Elicia and motioned with his head. 

"F'endships!" Elicia declared, knocking her plastic cup against their glasses. 

"Excellently executed," Roy informed her, and Elicia giggled. 

Gracia glanced out the window, noting the darkness crawling across the sky, and held out the extra candle to Roy. "Here." 

Roy took it with a curious glance towards the three candles sitting in the windowsill already. 

Her smile was beginning to ache again. "For Maes." 

Understanding made his eyes almost seem to darken, for a moment, but his smile never faltered. "Of course." 

Gracia was more than a little jealous, that he could so easily ignore the loss that felt like it was eating through the core of all that she was. 

She stood, motioning for Elicia to follow. "Do you remember this part?" she asked. 

Elicia lit up. "Yeah! Has to scare the demons!" 

She forced another smile, loving and hating that childhood fairytale, was glad that, for Elicia, she'd twisted it a bit, because it had been the darkness in general that their candles had had to scare aware, according to her parents, and that had always left her terrified as a child, the rest of the year, when she didn't have a candle to take back to bed with her. (Maes, when she'd brought it up with him, had insisted that they should tell Elicia a story that made them comfortable, rather than what was popular, because he'd always been a little too wise about those things.) "Exactly right," she agreed. "Do you want to try, or let Mama do it?" 

Elicia considered that for a moment, then decided, "I do!" 

As Gracia walked her over to the candles, she caught sight of Roy pulling on a glove, an array traced out in red on the back. It was familiar, though she'd only seen it that one winter solstice six years ago; some 'party tricks' aren't easily forgotten. 

Roy came over to join them as Gracia pulled out a match for Elicia, standing behind her daughter like some sort of guardian angel. 

(A strange correlation, given that Gracia had never been particularly religious, but perhaps brought on by the story she'd fed Elicia, of demons roaming the street.) 

"Remember," Gracia cautioned, holding the match-head against the spark strip, "you have to light it right away, then blow out the match." 

Elicia nodded, staring avidly at the match-head. When Gracia ran it against the strip and it lit, Elicia let out a delighted sound and took the match, then stared at it for a moment as her breath set the flame dancing. 

"Elicia," Gracia said, using her best stern voice, already regretting letting her light the candle. 

Elicia blinked, surprised, and quickly moved to light her candle, then blew out her match. 

As Gracia took the used match back, she noticed that it hadn't burnt past the head, and she frowned at it for a moment, confused, before shrugging it off and setting it in the tray she'd left out, then quickly lit the candles for herself and Maes. 

As she put the matches away, Elicia tugged her sleeve. "Uncle Roy," she said. 

Gracia shook her head. "Uncle Roy has his own match," she offered. 

"Indeed I do," Roy agreed, leaning forward and setting his candle down on the windowsill. "It's a little unorthodox, though." 

Elicia frowned. "Un-tord... What?" 

Roy's mouth twitched. "Weird." 

Elicia giggled. 

Roy winked at her, then snapped his fingers. Red energy arced between them and the candle wick, which lit in an instant. 

"Cool!" Elicia declared. "Again!" 

Roy frowned. "I'm afraid we're all out of candles to light, but..." He trailed off, widening his eyes at the lit candles. 

Gracia turned to look and couldn't quite stop a gasp when she found the flames had taken on the shapes of their faces, Maes grinning wide and alive between her and Elicia. 

" _Cooooooool_ ," Elicia decided, reaching out to touch her own face, only for Roy to gently catch her hand. 

"Best not to touch," he suggested. "They might run away." 

"Awwww..." She drooped slightly, before almost immediately perking up as she realised she could sit there and stare at the faces for as long as she wanted. 

Gracia looked between the faces and the array drawn on the back of Roy's glove, then down to the match that had barely burnt. "Oh," she whispered, looking back up at him again; thinking of him as Elicia's guardian angel hadn't been far off, had it? 

Roy offered her a helpless sort of smile and wiggled his gloved fingers at her, the array catching the candlelight and looking like it was on fire itself, for a moment. "Party tricks," he said, the same thing Maes had said to her six years ago, the first time she'd ever seen the legendary Flame Alchemist's fire in action. 

"So I see," she returned, before getting to her feet. "I'm going to go check on dinner." 

"I'll keep an eye on her," Roy promised. 

Gracia didn't doubt that. 

Somehow, they managed to draw Elicia away from the faces in the fire for dinner, and when she got back to find them gone, she was clearly disappointed, but Roy distracted her with a story about fire fairies and Gracia found some paper so they could all draw what they thought they might look like, since, according to Roy, they always took on the image of the person who had lit their fire, so no one really knew their real appearance. It was kind of a cute little tale, and he'd managed to work in a bit about how they never appeared in a flame that a human had touched, which should, hopefully, keep Elicia from touching any flames any time soon. 

Once Elicia had fallen asleep, Gracia put her to bed, then came back down to find that Roy had refreshed their glasses and was looking at the photo of himself and Maes on the mantle, the smile that he'd been wearing nearly all evening vanished. 

"Thank you," she offered, "for coming." 

Roy nodded. "I miss him, too," he said quietly, and the well of honest grief in his voice brought tears to Gracia's eyes. He turned to look at her, trying a smile that was far from practised and quivered in place, and Gracia realised what she should have earlier: she wasn't the only one who had been struggling to smile for Elicia all evening, Roy just had far more practice putting on false faces because of his line of work. "I knew," he said, "that he wouldn't have wanted you to be left alone, tonight, and the last time I tried to spend the winter solstice alone with a bottle, well..." 

Gracia managed a trembling smile of her own at that. "He was a little pushy." 

"I'm fairly certain," Roy said, tone gone dry, "that his parents missed a chance, there; they should have named him 'Pushy Hughes'." 

Gracia startled herself with a laugh, then covered her mouth. 

Roy's smile steadied a little bit, and he admitted, "I don't have anyone to remember him with." 

"Neither do I," Gracia admitted in return. 

Roy motioned towards the couch, and Gracia hesitated for a minute, before nodding and joining him. 

They talked about Maes until the sun rose again, and while Gracia didn't miss him any less, the gaping wound in her chest that Elicia's giggles had never quite managed to fill in, felt like it was finally starting to heal. 

-0-  
Amestris & Ishval  
-0-

When they'd been putting everything together to help the Ishvalans rebuild, the one thing none of them considered, was how they intended to weather the longest night. 

The military, Riza knew from her many years of service, both on and off the battlefield, didn't really believe in observing what they considered to be useless holidays – those ones to do with the seasons, or holdovers from the local religions that the tide of conquest had nearly snuffed out – but since the people were determined, the military made some allowances, like giving officers the day off – or a half-day, more often, though Bradley hadn't even granted her that – and passing out an extra share of rations for those soldiers in the battlefield. 

Now, staring down at the extra rations that had been shipped out with the last supply run, Riza felt her stomach sinking, because one of the last things she wanted to do, was spend another winter solstice in Ishval with only an extra meal of military-grade mystery meat to suggest at some hopeful future. (At least, this time, she wouldn't have a sniper rifle balanced against one shoulder.) 

"Grim pickings," Breda commented, poking his nose into one of the little boxes. "Couldn't they have at least given us _good_ food?" 

Roy snorted from where he was working on the last-minute paperwork Riza had just shoved under his nose, with the promise that she wouldn't make him burn any midnight oil to finish it on a holiday. (Not that they really had sufficient oil supplies to keep his little light lit all night, or wood enough for even a small campfire burning all night, which was a whole different heartbreak.) 

Miles just shook his head. "No use complaining," he said, with all the wisdom of someone who had spent _years_ at a post where this sort of 'holiday celebration' was common. "Extra food is extra food, even if it is from the bottom of the barrel." 

"Does it worry anyone else that I'm willing to take that literally?" Breda said, closing up the box in his hands. 

"Stop complaining, Second Lieutenant," Riza ordered, because she could only take his complaints about the quality of their rations for so long a day. 

A loud call went up in the camp, of vehicles coming their way from the north-east, and Riza wasn't the only one to check her weapon as she dropped everything else and ducked out of the supply tent to see. 

They had to wait a bit, dust kicked up from the rapid pace blocking their view, but Riza's sharp eyes finally caught sight of familiar hair, glinting gold in the light of the already-setting sun, and called, "Friends!" as she clicked the safety of her gun back into place. 

"Lieutenant?" Roy asked, even as he followed her lead in lowering his own weapon. (A gun, because he'd studiously refused to even _bring_ his gloves to Ishval. Not that he really needed them any more, so long as someone had a match or a lighter to spark.) 

"The Elrics," she explained, and he wasn't the only one to relax. 

Edward and Alphonse were indeed in the beat-up farm truck that came to a stop a little in front of where Riza and the other officers had walked to wait – Edward standing up in the back, while Alphonse sat in the passenger seat next to an unfamiliar civilian – and a line of at least five other vehicles followed along behind them, spreading out to park. Both brothers were grinning, bright and wide, and then Edward called, "Hey, Mustang! We thought you guys might appreciate some Yule cheer!" and tossed something thin and white towards Roy. 

He caught it, barely, with a frown, before holding up a single candle, the sort that had been carefully measured to burn through the long night of the winter solstice. 

"We brought candles, food, and wood," Alphonse added, as the dust from their arrival mostly settled around their vehicle train, and the drivers and passengers started unloading crockery, unlabelled crates and bags, and more than enough wood for a bonfire to get them through the night. "I thought, since the winter solstice is about shaking off the shadows of the past year and looking forward to the new, and that's...pretty much what all this–" he motioned towards where the buildings of the nearest Ishval district started, not quite two miles from the edge of camp "–is about, you deserved to make it a good one." 

"And here I thought," Edward said with a massive, shit-eating grin on his face, "that the winter solstice was about that poor, poor sun god–"

Alphonse spun and took a swipe at him, which Edward dodged with a laugh. "I was _four_ , Edward!" 

Out of nowhere, a spanner slammed into the back of Edward's head, and he crouched down, curling into a ball and clutching his head, moaning about the pain and how not-very-Yule-friendly that had been. 

"Shut up," Winry ordered as she slipped out of the crowd of civilians and the soldiers who Roy had motioned forward to help with the unpacking. She offered a small smile towards Riza and her fellow officers, saying, "The winter solstice is supposed to be spent with your friends and family, right? And starting again fresh? We weren't sure how many Ishvalans had come back, but there should, hopefully, be enough food to go around, if you think they'll come to an Amestrisan celebration?" 

"I believe," Miles said, something odd in his voice, "that whatever celebrations the Ishvalans had planned may already be under way. However, I think," he continued, and Riza saw him looking towards the piles of unloaded 'Yule cheer', "that they will appreciate the chance to start over and set aside old wrongs. Some may well come." 

The children – young adults, really; this hadn't been an easy year, but all three of them seemed to have grown into it well – grinned at that, clearly pleased that their idea – and Riza didn't doubt it was an idea birthed by them, and not their neighbours, who they'd likely spent days, if not weeks, talking around – was approved of. 

"Let's get everything unloaded and set up," Roy ordered. "Major, if you'll go into the city and pass on the offer to join us in feasting and lighting fires to get us through the long night?" He glanced up at the sky, already painted in shades of red and orange as the sun started to sink below the rocky horizon. "We don't have much daylight left." 

"I'll go help with the food," Breda announced. 

Edward and Alphonse both stepped forward to catch him as he tried to head past them, Edward grinning like he'd caught something good, and Alphonse wearing an easy-going smile, which somehow managed to convey that the steel he'd once worn hadn't left him entirely. "Why don't you help us stack the wood for the bonfire," Alphonse suggested. "Isn't it good for the men to see one of their officers working just as hard as the rest of them?" 

"Weren't you nicer, before?" Breda complained as he was led towards the centre of camp, where the wood was already being carted by grinning soldiers. 

Edward, tellingly, laughed. 

"We should help too, sir," Riza pointed out to Roy, only to look back and find him...gone. 

Frowning, she went to help direct the food preparations. 

-

Either the Ishvalans had been looking for the chance to ease their relations with the Amestrisans, or they had been sorely lacking in their own preparations – or a mix of both – because Riza didn't really have a count of their current population, but the group that Miles led back into the camp was...larger than she had expected, if she was being honest. They brought some food with them – bread and vegetables – and armfuls of branches from the low-growing, hearty little bushes that served as the only real source of wood in the barren landscape; part of their own winter solstice preparations, Riza would bet. 

The group working on the bonfire quickly set about adding the new fuel, accepting the Ishvalans into their number with only a brief hesitation, but those who were setting out the feast sort of stared at the new group across the folding tables and piles of crates that they'd found to serve as a buffet line. 

Riza was about to go over and try...she really wasn't certain what – peacefully moderating disputes was not one of her strong suits – when Winry stepped forward, one hand extended. "Hello," she said to the elderly woman who appeared to be in charge of that group of Ishvalans, "I'm Winry. Winry Rockbell." 

The name sparked a reaction among the Ishvalans, turning and whispering to each other too low for Riza to catch, but the lack of attacking suggested it hadn't been a _bad_ reaction. 

And then the elderly woman handed off her bowl, stepped forward, and took Winry's extended hand between both of hers, bowing over it. "I am Shan," she said, her voice choked, "and I owe you thanks, and an apolo–"

And then Winry bent forward and wrapped Shan in a hug, which apparently shocked the woman into silence. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright with tears, but she was smiling. "I'll accept your thanks, for them, but I don't need your apology, and neither do they." 

Shan bowed her head again, a smile pulling at the weathered lines of her face. "I see them in your kindness; I believe those doctors would have been proud to see the woman you have become." 

_"My mum and dad got killed when soldiers took them to the battlefield,"_ a far, _far_ younger Winry had once told Riza, her eyes dry, but so much sadness and anger in the down-turned line of her mouth. 

Now, nearly grown, she smiled as a tear trailed down her cheek, forgiving someone who would have taken the blame that Riza had seen her once so willing to lay at anyone's feet. This was everything Riza had once been taught the winter solstice was meant to be, and she was grateful to be able to watch it unfold, to see the Ishvalans and Amestrisans – old rivals – being introduced to each other by a girl who had been born anew from strife; the embodiment of the dawn following the longest night. 

Yes, Riza suspected that Shan was right: Winry's parents would have been proud of her. 

-

Roy showed up just before the last of the sun's light had vanished, Edward and Alphonse walking on either side of him, each carrying a crate of – Riza realised as they passed her on their way to the unlit wood pyre – candles with little skirts around them, likely alchemised to serve as guards against dripping wax. "Bear with me for a moment, please," Roy requested, while the Elrics walked the circle, handing out candles to everyone, getting people in the front to pass them back to those behind them. 

"I know traditions for the winter solstice vary across the country, but the most common theme seems to be a flame to see us through the long night. As the villagers of Resembool have supplied us with plenty of candles, I thought it only fair that everyone get to light their own, personal candle before we light the bonfire, which you can then keep with you throughout the night, or add it to the bonfire, as is your choice. However, in keeping with this night's theme of coming together and learning to forgive the wrongs of the old year, forging friendships that will, I hope, last for many years yet to come, we only have one match." 

He held the match up, high enough that most people could see, before striking it against a coarse strip he'd clearly torn from a matchbox and setting it alight. He used it to light the candle he'd been holding in his other hand – the same one Edward had thrown him earlier, Riza expected – then held that out in front of him, while he blew out the match. 

Edward, Alphonse, and Winry – who they must have caught while they were passing out the candles – stepped forward and held their candles to Roy's, lighting them, then all four spread out around the circle ringing the pyre, letting others light their candles from the ones they were holding. Those people turned to offer their flame to the people behind them, sharing the flame around without care for race or creed in the darkness, until everyone was holding a lit candle. 

Once they'd all turned back to where Roy was standing next to the pyre, he nodded, then turned, took a step back, and tossed his candle into the pyre. 

There followed a moment of silence, everyone holding their breath as they watched that little candle flame vanish into the pile, before Riza saw Roy press his hands together, low and unobtrusive enough that most people would have missed it. 

The pyre burst into flames, all at once, throwing the whole clearing into bright, golden relief, and a cheer went up. 

"Now, let us eat!" Roy called, which won him another cheer, this one accompanied by people turning towards the buffet line. 

Some people stopped long enough to toss their candle into the blaze, while others stayed to watch the leaping flames. Across the clearing, Riza saw Edward toss his candle into the bonfire with a smile, while Alphonse stood next to him and held his close, clearly one of those who intended to keep it with him the whole night. Not far from them, she saw Winry and her grandmother – she hadn't realised the woman had come, though it made sense – standing with the Ishvalan woman from earlier, Shan; Mrs Rockbell and Shan had both thrown their candles into the bonfire, but Winry still had hers. 

Roy approached her, backlit by a fire, for once, that didn't stand for all the sins staining both their hands. He nodded to her hands, calling her attention to the candle she was still holding, and asked, "What are you planning to do with that, Lieutenant?" 

Riza looked down at it, remembered the nights of the winter solstice after her mum had died, when she'd been forced to sneak a candle into her room and constantly light it and blow it out and then light it again, to keep from being discovered and having it taken away, suffering a lecture about the waste of perfectly good wax, or the childishness in celebrating pointless holidays, because her father refused to acknowledge them. She remembered that long, terrible night years ago, rifle against her shoulder and an extra serving of cold rations laying, half eaten, next to her; how she'd longed, then, for those precious candles of her childhood, or even just the box of matches that she'd always used far too many of. 

She tightened her fingers around the base, under the ingenious little hand guard that meant she could carry it with her all night, without fear of wax burns. "I think I'll be keeping it, sir," she replied. 

Roy was smiling when she looked back up at him, no judgement, just understanding, and she wondered if he regretted using his candle to light the pyre. But then he said, "We should probably help Major Miles keep order," and she realised she'd been people watching too long. 

She straightened and gave a short nod, before turning to lead the way towards where Miles, an Ishvalan she didn't know, and one of the Resembool villagers were trying to direct people, with limited success. All three looked relieved to have help, and Roy quickly set about distributing them, pulling any other officers he found out of the queue to help. 

When Riza finally had a plate of food, she found a cleared spot of ground near the bonfire and sat, taking a moment to dig out a little space in the loose dirt in front of her for her candle and setting it there, before she started on her plate. 

"Do you mind if we join you?" Winry asked, and Riza glanced up to find her and the Elrics standing there with their plates, Alphonse and Winry still holding their candles. 

"Please," Riza replied, motioning for them to sit, which they did. 

Winry and Alphonse followed her lead in digging out little spaces for the candles, not far from her own, while Edward watched with a fond smile, then they all started on their food. 

Roy joined them next, not bothering to ask, and Miles followed on his heels, adding his candle to the little grouping in the middle, once he'd sat. 

Breda joined them not long after they'd all finished, grinning widely, and said, "I've been hearing about some seriously weird winter solstice traditions." 

"Ooh!" Edward sat up, his eyes impossibly bright in the firelight, and Alphonse groaned next to him. "Have you heard about the orchard blessings, yet?" 

Breda blinked. "No?" 

"Brother, _please_ ," Alphonse complained, which just seemed to make Breda even more interested. (Riza would have thought Alphonse knew better.) 

Edward nudged him with his elbow, then explained, "It's a thing the southern farmers do. Couples walk around their orchards, one of them telling off each tree and threatening to cut it down, and the other one, who's carrying dough for a fucking _delicious_ cake, by the way, tells them to spare the tree because it's branches are going to be as heavy with fruit, that coming spring, as their hands are with the dough." 

Breda flashed him a wide grin. "Hadn't heard that one, no," he admitted. "It's pretty excellent." 

"What did you do when you were growing up?" Winry asked politely, and Alphonse looked a little relieved. 

Breda scratched his chin. "Well, I'm from near East City, so I'd bet our celebrations were pretty similar: Candles in every window?" 

"Yup. Sun god?" Edward asked back, only to yelp when Alphonse elbowed him in the ribs. 

Breda laughed. "Yeah. Had to give the healers enough light to see his battle wounds to heal, so he could get up and fight the darkness again." 

"I _told_ you it was battle wounds," Alphonse muttered. 

"I still prefer the chariot breaking." 

"You only like that one because you couldn't think of a better one." 

"Both of you shut up, before I pull my spanner back out," Winry ordered, and both young men ducked their heads, mumbling apologies. 

Breda glanced at Miles. "I bet Fort Briggs' celebrations are pretty slim." 

Miles shrugged. "In terms of food, yes, but it's a northern tradition to cut down an evergreen tree and drag it indoors to dress up with candles and tinsel. So, every year, about a week before the solstice, we send out a scouting party and they find the perfect tree, then drag it back inside. We shove all the tables in the mess out of the way and set it up, and everyone takes out whatever tinsel or decorations they might have and we spend the week decorating it. When the sun sets on the night of the solstice, we all light candles and bring them into the mess and put them on the tree, and then we either leave back to our duties or sleep, or a few people pull out games and set up in the mess, or sit with friends and watch the tree." 

"...wow," Breda finally managed, and Riza kind of understood. "That is weirdly touching." 

Miles shot him a flat look. "I can see to it that you get to enjoy the tradition next year, Second Lieutenant." 

Edward snickered while Breda quickly shook his head, and Riza ducked her head to hide a smile. 

"What about Central City?" Alphonse asked. "We've never actually spent the solstice there." 

Roy cleared his throat. "Everyone gets a candle to light, and we leave them in the window to scare away the darkness." 

"That's not too different from the eastern customs, is it?" Winry asked. 

"Not particularly," Roy agreed, nodding. 

"They are both a little different from the Ishvalan custom," Miles offered, before motioning towards the bonfire. "Wood is scarce, and candles too precious, so everyone collects what burnable waste they can throughout the year – be it extra wood, old clothing, or paper goods – then they bring it to the town square and light a bonfire to keep burning all night." 

"So, this really is a mixing of traditions," Edward said, unusually quiet, for him, as he looked towards the bonfire. 

"You even got the west," Breda offered, and they all looked over at him. "Everyone brings food and they throw a party with their neighbours, making as much noise as they can to scare away the night and wake the sun." 

"And you haven't moved there, yet?" Edward joked, back to his old self. 

Breda made a threatening gesture, to which Edward responded with a loud laugh. Alphonse tried to get him to stop being a jerk, while Winry rolled her eyes and Miles and Roy both sighed, clearly resigned. 

Riza looked over this group – this circle of people she sometimes let herself call friends – and caught herself smiling along with them, coughing a laugh at their stupid jokes and the familiar bickering, while the flames of their quartet of candles and the massive blaze of the bonfire lit their faces and held back the darkness. 

It seemed years ago that she'd been staring down at the ration boxes, her stomach sinking; if this night was the promise of their future, then she would embrace it, and gladly. 

For the first time since that lonely night with her sniper rifle, Riza found herself looking forward to what the new year would bring. 

-0-

> So the shortest day came, and the year died,  
>  And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world  
>  Came people singing, dancing,  
>  To drive the dark away.  
>  They lighted candles in the winter trees;  
>  They hung their homes with evergreen;  
>  They burned beseeching fires all night long  
>  To keep the year alive,  
>  And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake  
>  They shouted, revelling.  
>  Through all the frosty ages you can hear them  
>  Echoing behind us — Listen!!  
>  All the long echoes sing the same delight,  
>  This shortest day,  
>  As promise wakens in the sleeping land:  
>  They carol, feast, give thanks,  
>  And dearly love their friends,  
>  And hope for peace.  
>  And so do we, here, now,  
>  This year and every year.  
>  Welcome Yule! 

**Author's Note:**

> To you and yours, I wish a blessed Yule and a happy New Year!  
> Thanks for all your kind words and support!  
> ~Batsutousai ^.^x


End file.
